Dancefloors
by strawberrymegu
Summary: "She's short of words, completely unlike herself in any other daily situation, falling apart right here, right now in the armchair in the common room in front of everybody and she can't help it." Some fluffy, angsty Jily isses.


Well, I haven't been there for a while. I was meaning to continue my first and only story published here but never got around to doing so and now when I look back at the storyline… ugh. Anyway, there is a new piece (I'm not claiming it's any better) and I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: Sadly, I am no JK The Queen Rowling, so I do not own any right to anything really.

 _Why can't you hold me in the street?_ _  
_ _Why can't I kiss you on the dance floor?_ _  
_ _I wish that it could be like that_ _  
_ _Why can't we be like that? Cause I'm yours_

(Little Mix, "Secret Love Song")

It's a chilly Friday evening, March 15th 1978. The Marauders stroll into the common room and announce that _apparently_ , the Chudley Cannons have just won some major, super-important match against a Chinese team and _apparently_ , this is as good of a reason as anything to throw a party. Unsurprisingly, the announcement is welcomed with general enthusiasm of the gathered crowd. Gryffindors love their unreasonable parties.

Meanwhile, Lily Evans is a content bundle of comfy clothes, blankets and books in the corner, close enough to the fireplace to feel warm and cosy, but far enough not to feel hot from the flames. As a Head Girl, she should probably tone the dangerous enthusiasm down and nip the whole ridiculous idea in the bud… But honestly, she could not care less. Besides, somewhere there is James, the Head Boy and it's his stupid idea. She goes back to her reading feeling bluntly unapologetic to the world in general. She deserves her bit of relax.

Living with five girls in one dormitory and being in all classes with the Marauders have thought her a few things, so she doesn't pay attention to her surroundings for the next half an hour, but when she finally lifts her head, having finished a riveting chapter of _Most Scandalous Cauldrons of All Times_ (a birthday gift from James), the common room is unrecognisable. Somehow the boys have managed to charm all the sofas, armchairs (including Lily's) and Gryffindor tapestries _orange_ , there is a moving photograph of the Cannons hanging over the fireplace and a crowd of Gryffindors from all years is causing mayhem. Lily spots bottles of butterbeer here and there and prays for God there is no firewhiskey inside any of them.

'I feel relieved' a warm voice she knows so well whispers to her ear, causing her to start and provoking all kinds of funny feelings in her insides. Painfully aware of blushing, she looks to her left and sees James Potter carelessly perched on an armchair right next to her own.

'Why would that be?' she tries to remain unaffected and loses, drowning in the gold of his eyes like a miserable, love-stricken fool that she is.

'I thought you'd died, or worse, _fell asleep at a party_ , you were so consumed by your book.'

'Seriously, you have to sort out your priorities, boy. And you _wish_.'

'I really don't.'

'Don't have to sort?'

'Don't wish. Quite the opposite.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah.'

She's short of words, completely unlike herself in any other daily situation, falling apart right here, right now in the armchair in the common room in front of everybody and she can't help it. Suddenly, they are so close, she can feel his warm breath and the energy radiating from his body that makes her _really hot and bothered_. That would be so easy – just to come a little closer, to taste those lips she's been dreaming about last night… James is reading her mind, as always.

'This doesn't have to be this difficult, Lily.' His voice is low, heavy and doing _things_ to her, things she should not be thinking about. Trying to fight a thick mist clouding her brain, she forces herself to act rationally and pulls away.

'We've talked about it James.'

He's resistant, taking her tiny hand into his own, big and Quidditch-callused one. She looks around, checking if anyone's watching. 'C'mon, Lily, those are not Slytherins, those are Gryffindors. They don't care.'

'Of course they do! There are already rumours flying around, it would be news of the day if we gave them anything to prey on.'

His grip tightens and it brings her back, too close to him for her comfort. His voice lowers and deepens. 'Lily, I don't care if any fucking prejudiced bastard finds out about us. I've told you. I'm already at their wandpoint. I don't want to hide. I want to enjoy the party with you, I want to take you to the dancefloor and kiss you there and it's nobody's business.'

She wriggles her hand out of his grip, stands up and begins gathering her things as quickly as possible, avoiding even glancing at him and seeing _the look_ on his face.

' _You're not_ on their wandpoint, James Potter, you're pureblood' she hisses. 'But you WILL BE for sure when you start dating mudblood. And this mudblood refuses to take part in getting you killed.'

She knows those are the last words they will share that evening, as she runs towards girls' staircase and doesn't look back. She knows she left him hurting and that he won't just forget this and get back to their usual routine. He's become more and more persistent and that latest exchange seems like taking five steps back.

She's restless that night, lying in bed. He won't be coming to her, like he did so many times those last weeks. He won't sneak into her bed, making it feel small and cosy and comfortable. He won't take her into his arms and whisper all those terribly wonderful things that he can't say out loud in public. He won't find her lips and make it numb, he won't make her say his name so many, many times it blinds her.

She knows this, but keeps hoping that he would. That one day they won't be a pureblood and a mudblood hooking up in secret, pretending everything's dandy. That they will be just them – Lily and James, kissing on the dancefloor, with a 'devil may care' on their lips.


End file.
